On Second Glance
by tutncleo
Summary: Part Two in the Home Is Series. Tony's gone and Gibbs is worried. Pairing: Tony/Gibbs


_**The Home Is…..Series **_

"**On Second Glance****" **

"_**One of the oldest human needs is having someone wonder where you are when you don't come home at night." **_ Margaret Mead

"Hey Abby, its Gibbs," he said into the phone. "Don't get excited, nothing's wrong. Just give me a call when you get this message," and then he pressed the button, ending the call. Looking at his watch, and seeing that it was 12:15 a.m., he wondered if it was too late to call McGee, knowing his youngest agent wasn't a night owl, like Abby. Deciding that he shouldn't because of the time, and more importantly, his unwillingness to offer the kind of explanation his question might demand, he pushed himself off the new beige overstuffed sofa he had been slumped on, and stood, looking around his den for something to do. An enormous flat screen television had been squeezed between the oak bookshelves on the opposite wall, but it held no appeal. Gibbs had never understood how some people could watch the stupid thing, hour after hour. There was a state of the art stereo system on two shelves of one of the bookcases next to the TV, but he didn't even know how to turn it on. Next to the beautiful, walnut library desk he had inherited from his grandfather, stood the incongruous newest addition to the room, a treadmill, positioned so that you could watch the boob tube while exercising. Placing it in the den had been a compromise when Tony had wanted to install it in the basement, and Gibbs had suggested the garage. The treadmill held no appeal, though; even the chance to burn off some of the nervous energy he was feeling didn't make it attractive. He had just decided to go make another pot of coffee, when his cell rang.

Looking at the number displayed on the screen with disappointment, he answered, "Gibbs."

Music blared forth, so loudly he could almost feel the reverberations of the bass guitar in his own stomach. The noise forced him to move the phone away from his ear a bit. "Gibbs? Gibbs? Gibbs, it's me," Abby screamed into the phone, in an attempt to make herself heard. "What's up, Bossman?"

"Can't hear you, Abs," he yelled back, involuntarily matching her volume.

"Hang on a sec," Abs shouted, "I'll get somewhere quieter. Don't go anywhere!"

Gibbs could hear rustling and the babble of hundreds of voices, as the sheer intensity of the music began to wane. Occasionally he could indistinctly pick out Abby's voice, as she clearly responded to something someone around her had said. Finally the music and murmur of voices faded, and Abby's voice rang out, "Gibbs, are you there?" She was still talking loudly, but that wasn't unusual for Abby.

"Yep, still am," Gibbs answered.

"I totally freaked out when I saw that you'd called. What's wrong?" she demanded, "and don't try to tell me everything's fine. There's no way you'd be calling me at this hour if it was."

"I was just calling to ask if Tony was with you." Gibbs said, trying to sound nonchalant. He hated having to admit his reason, but the need to know overshadowed his embarrassment.

"Why would he be with me?" Abby asked, suspicion creeping into her voice, replacing the fear.

"I don't know, never mind. Forget I called and go on back to whatever it is you were doing," Gibbs said, hoping to avoid having to explain anything more.

"I don't think so," Abby said sharply. "What's going on? Why don't you know where Tony is?" she paused, clearly thinking. Then, "Did you have a fight?" she demanded.

Gibbs sighed. He should have known better than to call her. It was just that Abby was one of the few people who knew about him and Tony, and he'd thought that maybe Tony would have gone to see her.

When he didn't answer her quickly enough to suit, Abby asked again, "Did you hear me? Did you guys get into an argument?"

"It wasn't really an argument," Gibbs said defensively.

"Sure, that's why you don't know where Tony is," Abby snapped. "What did you say to him, Bossman?" she demanded to know.

"That's none of your business," Gibbs snapped back. There was only so much he was willing to share, and he was angry that she assumed he had caused the fight, and more than a little guilty. "I just want to make sure he's okay. Look, it'll be fine. We'll get it worked out. Go on back to your dance, or whatever that noise was."

"You'd better," Abby warned. "I wouldn't let it drag on if I were you. Time doesn't heal all wounds for Tony."

"Yeah Abs; believe me, I know." Gibbs sighed. "That's why I was trying to find him tonight. You don't think he'd go over to McGee's, do you?"

"And admit to the Probie that his life wasn't perfect? Not a chance," Abby snorted. "You didn't call Timmy, did you?" she asked in a horrified voice.

"No!" Gibbs exclaimed, not about to admit that he had thought about it.

"You may just have to wait until he's ready to talk," Abby said. "If he calls me, I'll try to get him to let you know where he is," she promised. "That's about the best I can do."

"Appreciate it," Gibbs said. "Have a good night, Abby. I'll see you on Monday."

"Hang in there, Bossman. It'll all work out," Abby said, as she hung up.

Gibbs snapped his phone shut, as his worry ramped up another ten degrees. Instinctually he turned, and headed to the basement, the place he always went when seeking solace. He had gotten all the way over to his boat when the guilt crashed down on him, causing him to still. 'This is where it happened,' he thought, suddenly feeling like a criminal returning to the scene of a crime, as he remembered what had happened.

He had known for a couple of days that something was on Tony's mind. He had been tenser and more fidgety than normal. There had been a couple of false starts, where Tony seemed to be getting ready to talk about what was eating at him, but each time Gibbs thought they were finally going to get to it, Tony had ended up cracking some lame joke and prattling on about nothing of importance. Gibbs hadn't pushed, knowing that never worked with Tony, figuring that eventually Tony would just spit it out. When Tony had come down to the basement this evening, and sat in his usual spot, magazine on his lap, Gibbs hadn't given it much thought. They had spent countless nights that way. He, working on his boat, while Tony read, occasionally teasing and making small talk, until they were both ready to go up for the night. Gibbs had just assumed it was going to be another normal night.

'God, I was stupid,' he berated himself, as he played back the scene in the basement in his mind. He'd been absorbed in the boat; not really focusing on Tony, or he would have seen the signs, he assured himself. He hadn't looked up when Tony spoke, so there hadn't been a visual cue, and Tony's voice had been light and conversational.

"Did I tell you my lease expires at the end of this month?" Tony had asked him offhandedly.

"Uh huh," he answered, more interested in the knot in the wood he was trying to plane out.

"Not sure I should renew it." Tony had remarked, and still he hadn't caught on to the fact that this was it, the thing Tony had been skating around.

"That dump's a fire hazard," he'd offered, just to show he was hearing Tony, even though he obviously hadn't really been listening.

"Thought maybe I could just officially move in here," Tony had said, just as casually as if he had been commenting on the weather.

Still he hadn't really gotten it. Instead, he'd cracked a joke. "Don't think you're going to be number five. You don't have the legs for it," he'd said, meaning only to imply that everyone else who'd ever lived there with him had been a wife. He wasn't against the idea; he just hadn't ever really given it any thought, content with the way things were. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time Tony had spent the night at his own apartment. It had been months.

It had taken him a few moments to realize that Tony hadn't replied. By the time he looked up, Tony was already half way up the stairs, and still it didn't really register. It wasn't until he heard the front door slam, that he had replayed the conversation in his head, realizing how that comment might have been interpreted by Tony. He'd gotten to the front door just in time to watch Tony's car pull out of the driveway and swing out onto the road, tires squealing. He'd immediately tried calling him, and had gotten no answer. Since then he'd tried over a dozen more times, only to receive the same results. So here he was now, six hours later, having no clue where Tony was, or what was going on in his brain. Gibbs glanced at his boat again, no longer wanting anything to do with the basement, and headed back up the stairs. When he got to the main level, he turned on the lights to the back yard and the front porch. He even switched on the little lamp on the table next to the door. Then, with no better plan of action, he returned to the den and sank back down onto the couch, ready to resume his lonely vigil.

Gibbs' words had hit Tony so hard, he'd actually stopped breathing for a moment. He was out the door and in his car before he even really thought about what he was doing. When his phone started ringing, he'd reached down and turned it off, not caring that he was breaking Gibbs' precious rule number three – never be unreachable. 'After all, that would just be one more strike against me,' he thought bitterly. He had driven around aimlessly for hours, no real destination in mind, just needing to put distance between himself and the source of his misery, willing to let the night envelop him, its darkness a metaphor for his mood. At one point he had considered calling Abby, but had discarded that idea quickly. Abby had a way of getting to the heart of every problem, making him look at the issues fairly and logically, and that wasn't something he wanted to do right now. Gibbs' words had hurt him, and he wasn't ready to let that pain go yet, dreading more the emptiness he knew would replace it.

Finally, not knowing what else to do, he'd driven over to his own apartment. After letting himself in, he looked around, as if seeing the place for the first time. It had been awhile since he'd been there, and a thin layer of dust covered every surface, since he had long ago discontinued his account with the cleaning service, seeing no reason to spend money on a place he didn't occupy. The air was still, and was beginning to get that musty scent he associated with elderly people's homes, the smell that hinted at illness and suggested it had been years since a window had been opened, allowing fresh air in. Suddenly feeling claustrophobic and dizzy, he went over to the windows in the living room, and opened them both up as wide as they would go, then he stood and just breathed in the fresh night air, letting it start to clear his head. Turning around, he automatically went to turn on the TV, surprised for a brief moment when he discovered it missing. 'No, of course it wasn't there,' he reminded himself. He'd transferred it to Gibbs' house several months ago, unwilling to watch the football season on Gibbs' tiny portable television. He thought about taking a shower, but remembered he didn't have any soap or shampoo here anymore, and the clothes that remained were ones he had intended to gather up and give to the Salvation Army, deeming them too outdated to be worn again. He crossed to the frig to get a beer, but the smell that attacked him when he opened the refrigerator's door caused him to slam it shut again, and backpedal out of the kitchen. With no better options, he walked slowly back into the main room, and dropped down onto the sofa, little puffs of dust floating up, and then resettling on his shoulders and head.

As he sat, limp and defeated, on the sofa, the scene in the basement came back to him, like a flashback in a movie. Gibbs' words, "Don't think you're going to be number five," echoed over and over again, pushing away all other thoughts. He didn't know how he had expected Gibbs to react to his suggestion, but that wasn't it. Not that he'd ever expected to be number five, neither he nor Gibbs were the type to militantly defy tradition, their jobs and their upbringings making the idea more than improbable. Sitting on the couch, he asked himself, 'Just what did you expect?' and found he couldn't answer that question. He didn't really have any experience with long term relationships, and therefore had nothing to compare to these circumstances. When he and Gibbs had first gotten together, he hadn't let himself think about where it might lead, happy to just revel in the now, not wanting to jinx it by thinking too hard about it. Over time, it had just become a part of who he was and what he did, and didn't seem to require any deeper examination. Now, here he was, a little over a year since it had all begun, not knowing where he stood.

Events from the last several months replayed in his head as he sat on couch in his empty apartment. Memories of he and Gibbs cooking and doing lawn work came back to him. He recalled silly disagreements over the type of laundry detergent to buy, or the type of toothpaste that was best. Nights spent watching Gibbs work on the boat washed over him, forming a tapestry of images in his mind. None of it was earth shattering, but pieced together, it formed his definition of happiness. Suddenly not willing to let it all slip away, he jumped up from the sofa, and headed out the door. When he got into his car, he glanced at his discarded cell phone, sitting on the seat next to him. Turning it back on, he saw that he had fifteen missed calls. Punching the button, he saw they were all from Gibbs. 'Fifteen missed calls, and not a single message!' he thought, his first smile for several hours forming on his lips. That was so typical. Turning the ignition key, he started the car, heading back to what he realized had already become home.

When Tony pulled the car into Gibbs' drive, he was surprised to find the house a blaze of lights. The porch light was on, and light from the living room shone out of the windows at him, like the beacon of a lighthouse. Slipping quietly in, he walked to the basement door, surprised to find the basement still and dark. Heading back through the main floor of the house, he went to the den, pausing to look at what he found there. Gibbs sat on the couch, his head slumped to the right a bit, sound asleep. Tony didn't need to be told that the older man had fallen asleep sitting up waiting for him to come home; he just knew it. Gliding silently into the room, he straddled Gibbs' lap, and sat down.

Gibbs stirred, the pressure waking him up. When he saw who it was, his arms encircled Tony, pulling him to his chest. Holding him tight, he murmured, "Welcome home," and that was all Tony needed to hear, everything else was unimportant.


End file.
